You Make Me Weak At Your Knees

(My husband and I are preparing to grade a hill and reseed it. He’s gone for two weeks at a time for work, so I’m the one who runs around looking at supplies and material. Right now I’m looking at seed blankets, which help keep the seed from blowing away or getting washed away when it rains.)

Me: “Well, at this store it’s [price] for [square footage], which is pretty much the same as the last store.”

Husband: “How big around is the roll? Like your ankle? Your thigh? Your waist?”

Me: *looking down and considering* “Maybe my knee? That seems closest.”

Husband: “Well, you have big knees so-”

Me: “What?!”

Husband: “Honey, you’re really tall and—”

Me: “You can’t talk about my knees like that! You know how I feel about my knees!”

Husband: *realizing he’s in trouble and starting to talk faster* “But baby, you’re just so tall, and it’s not my fault someone dumped miracle-gro on you when you were a baby, and all your stuff is in the right spot, and your curves are just right, and, and…” *he trails off*

Me: “Nice save, [Husband].”